


in your eyes the sky

by ashers_kiss



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, Huddling For Warmth, Post-Battle of Five Armies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 19:03:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5260103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashers_kiss/pseuds/ashers_kiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tauriel is familiar with the cold.  But this is different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in your eyes the sky

**Author's Note:**

> This was something that occurred to me back in March, one night when I particularly needed a hot water bottle. The weather has finally matched up again with my Hobbit-y mood.
> 
> Huge thanks to [amine-eyes](www.amine-eyes.tumblr.com) for looking it over for me, and for pulling my hands away from the keyboard when I wanted to write more that wasn't needed. ♥
> 
> Title from [A Civil War Sestina](http://dark-siren.tumblr.com/post/79576314592/a-civil-war-sestina) by [fira211](http://fira211.tumblr.com/post/79409896052/a-civil-war-sestina). (Because even though it's Steve/Tony and quite sad, it's also quite fitting, and I think that line is especially applicable.)

Tauriel is familiar with the cold. She knows well the dusting of snow over the forest, the deep drifts that would sink her up to her waist if she let them, the snap in the air that clouds her breath. But the cold on the Western roads is…different. The winter of the forest is bitter and sharp, cutting through bone to steal breath from her lungs. This cold is damp, smothering, soaking through to her very core until she cannot remember true warmth, until the fire does nothing but tickle at the furthest edges of sensation.

She shudders and tugs her blankets closer, tighter, for all the good they will do. The cold seeps up from the ground, and already she can feel the ache of it, the stiffness of her muscles.

She does not regret this journey, the decision to travel with Kili – and his brother. And the healer, and _his_ brother. And a score of dwarves, apparently from the Iron Hills, who only look at her to glare – to Ered Luin, to bring those who wished to back to the mountain. They need time together, away from their kings (although Tauriel wonders if she can still call Thranduil that, when her banishment was never officially rescinded. Indeed, he seemed _surprised_ when she did not return to the forest with him, as if she would spend all those months at Kili’s sickbed to leave him the moment he woke). They need to learn each other, to build on whatever it is that clutches in her chest so tight. Tauriel knows this.

She also knows that she could never have resisted the opportunity to travel so far beyond the forest’s borders, to see lands she had only ever dreamed of. To do it all with Kili’s smile shining bright at her side.

She only wishes it was spring.

There’s a shuffling behind her, a soft grunt, and Tauriel does not need to turn around to know Kili has pushed himself to sitting, frowning at her with that confused little line between his eyes.

“Are you cold?”

“Elves do not feel the cold,” Tauriel says. She aims for unconcerned, but is quite aware she sounds rather petulant and haughty instead. She thinks her nose may be running.

“Well dwarves do, so shove over.” And before she can argue, Kili is pulling his blankets closer, lifting her own to burrow in close. And oh, she _knows_ he’s lying, because he fairly _radiates_ heat, and the noise she makes when he tugs her into his arms is not a dignified one. But he is so _warm_.

And that is another clue, because Kili – Kili likes to be held. Kili does not, as a rule, press himself tight against her back and wrap himself around her. Normally, when they have such an opportunity, it is Tauriel who curls around _him_.

Her protest seems to struggle in her throat, cocooned by his warmth, and it surrenders entirely at the press of his lips against her jaw.

“There,” he says, beard scraping against her skin as he settles back. “That’s better.”

She can feel the smile growing, ducks her head to hide it in her blankets even as she covers the hand resting over her stomach with her own.

No, she does not regret this journey.


End file.
